You've Got To Be Kidding Part 2 of 3
by FraidyCat
Summary: Is this what brothers are for?
1. Chapter 1

Title: You've Got To Be Kidding

Author: FraidyCat

Genre: Drama

Time line: Sequel to "That Which Tears Us Apart"

Summary: Is this what brothers are for?

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.

Chapter 1

Charlie drummed his fingers on the table.

"Calm down," Don said. "You're never gonna make it until tomorrow."

"I'll be fine," Charlie retorted. "Are you sure I shouldn't get my hair cut?"

Don grimaced. Hair would forever be an issue between them. When they were growing up — all the way to a little over a year ago, in fact — Charlie's hair had been a series of tight, unruly curls. Don had given him no end of grief. Then they had both spent some time bald. Charlie had lost his hair due to chemotheraphy, and Don, along with several friends, had shaved off his own hair. Now, Don had to keep his ridiculously short to avoid tight curls — and Charlie's…well, it wasn't exactly straight, but it barely qualified as wavy. It just wasn't right.

"Shut up," he growled.

Charlie grinned, and looked nervously at his watch.

"Charlie…" started Don.

"It's not that," Charlie interrupted. "Well, not entirely…I have to pick up my tux, and I still haven't said what I came here to say."

Don felt himself tense. The memory of Charlie's leukemia was still too fresh. He spoke quietly. "It's not as bad as last time, is it? You're not going to wait until the day before your wedding and tell me something like that?"

Charlie quickly reached out to touch Don's hand. "Oh, no, Don. G-d no, I'm sorry."

"Then what is it?", Don asked, a little testy now. He looked at his own watch. "I've got to get back to the office."

"Wait, wait, wait," cried Charlie, loudly enough that patrons at other tables looked over at them. "Okay, I'll tell you."

Don waited.

Then _he_ started drumming _his_ fingers on the table.

Charlie finally just blurted it out, in typical confusing Charlie fashion. "Amita is 30," he said. "I'm 33."

Don rolled his eyes. "So? That's not a huge age difference, Buddy."

"No, No, I know that," responded Charlie. "It's just that…well…" He was blushing. He finally shoved it out as one word. "Wewanttohavechildrenrightaway."

Don's eyes crinkled. "Not sure what you want me to do about that," he finally said. "Need some instructions?"

Charlie buried his burning face in his hands. Don could barely make out a strangled, "No, dammit!" He started shaking his head in laughter, but suddenly Charlie raised his and looked him in the eye. He was startled to see tears in his brother's eyes.

"Charlie?"

Charlie spoke so quietly Don had to strain to hear him. "It's a side affect of the bone marrow stem cell transplant," he said. "Pretty much always happens." He looked around, checking to make sure no one was near. "I'm sterile," he finally whispered. "We want you to be a sperm donor."


	2. Chapter 2

(**A/N: **Fair warning — if you think this plotline is too predictable, think again.)

Chapter 2 

Don had just risen the glass to his mouth, and Charlie soon found his face covered in a spray of water. Don was choking and sputtering to the point that a waiter rushed over. "Sir!" he asked with concern. "Are you all right? Do you need help?" Don waved him away as he took a few gasping breaths that actually hurt his throat. The waiter still hovered, and Charlie's wet face looked frightened. Don coughed a few more times and croaked, "Thank you, thank you…I'll be fine." He took in another breath. "See, I'm breathing, now." He smiled disarmingly at the waiter, who smiled tentatively back.

"All right," he said hesitantly. He picked up the glass. "I'll bring you some more water." He looked over at Charlie. "And napkins."

Don coughed again, a more controlled cough this time, and looked at his brother. He knew other people were still watching them, but he couldn't stop himself. "Charlie! What the hell!"

Charlie was mopping his face with a napkin, and looked miserable. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't do that well. Are you all right?"

The waiter was back with water and napkins, which the brothers gratefully received and put to immediate use. People were getting back to their own business, and after another brief cough Don said, "What did you just say?"

Charlie sighed, and pushed his plate away. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I knew this was a bad idea. I told Amita this was a bad idea. You've already done so much for me."

Don snorted, and before he knew it he answered, "Well shit, Charlie. Bone marrow last year, sperm this year — do you want to reserve next year's kidney right now?"

He heard the words come out of his own mouth, and watched the blood drain from his brother's face. "Damn," he thought. Aloud he said, "Okay, I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that. I'm just kind-of in shock, here."

Charlie looked at his watch and pushed himself out of the booth. "No, it's okay," he said quietly, grabbing a twenty out of his wallet and dropping it on the table. "You're right."

Don couldn't stand that tone, that look…whenever someone hurt his brother, it tore his heart out. When _he_ hurt his brother, he wanted to rip his own heart out. "Charlie, I'm sorry," he said again. "I really shouldn't have said that."

Charlie offered him a tight smile, but the hurt in his eyes was still there. "I've really got to go," he said, turning to leave. "I'll see you tonight at the rehearsal."

Charlie was gone, and Don struggled out of the booth to go after him. He had to wait for someone to cross in front of him, and by the time he reached the door, he saw Charlie climbing in the back seat of a taxi.

"Crap," he muttered, running his hand over his curly head. "What the hell just happened?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

Don looked at his watch and increased his speed. After his lunch with Charlie, his concentration was blown, and the afternoon quickly got away from him. Now, he was late for the wedding rehearsal. Charlie would think it was because he was mad at him, his father would think it was because he was selfish…he sighed as he turned into another hallway of the hotel. He knew neither one of them would think those things. He should just stop thinking.

The meeting room reserved for Charlie and Amita's wedding was just around this next corner. He heard his father's voice. "Let's just give him a few more minutes, please, Rabbi", and broke into a soft jog. He plowed around the corner — and straight into Katie, one of the nurses who had worked closely with Charlie while he was in the hospital. She and Amita had struck up a friendship as well, and she was going to be one of the bridesmaids. A cell phone flew out of her hands, and both she and Don reached instinctively to grab it. This threw them further out of balance, and Don tried to steady himself on the wall, but all too soon the wall became an open doorway. The next thing he knew, both he and Katie were lying in a tangled heap of limbs.

"Hi, Don," she mumbled from somewhere beneath him, and he felt at least a dozen eyes burn into him. He looked down in time to see Katie twist her head around and try to look backwards at the stunned witnesses. "It's all right," she said happily. "I think I found him."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Please remember that this is fiction. While it may be a reflection of my personal views, it is not intended as a judgment of anyone else's. Chapter 4 

Don drained the beer, looking at the table where his brother sat with Amita, Alan and Katie. There was an empty chair, and he knew he was probably supposed to be sitting on it. He contemplated the empty bottle. "I'm an FBI agent," he told himself. "I can do this."

He screwed up his courage, and strode across the room.

They were laughing. He had noticed people were often laughing when Katie was around. Alan smiled up at him. "Donnie! Grab a seat, son. Have you been to the buffet?"

Don sat. "Yeah, Dad, I got waylaid by Larry." He looked generally at all of them, managing to avoid eye contact. "I want to apologize again for being late," he said, then looked directly at Katie. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Katie smiled. "I have three older brothers," she answered. "That's not the first time I've been tackled." Her eyes took on a teasing look. "Although it was definitely a different experience!"

Don knew he was blushing, and turned toward Amita to get the attention off himself. "So how are you doing?" he asked. "Getting cold feet yet?" Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and Don mentally kicked himself. "I should _not_ have gotten up today," he thought.

Amita took Charlie's hand. "I'm excited, of course," she answered. "I just wish my parents could be here."

Alan reached out to touch her free hand fondly. "I'm sure you do," he said. "I'm so sorry they couldn't come."

"They're coming from India later this year, right?" asked Katie.

Amita smiled again, and this time it seemed genuine. "Yes. We all decided that we'd rather have them come later. If they came now, we'd only see them for a few days, and then we'd be gone on our honeymoon. But if they come later, we'll actually be here to spend time with them."

Larry had wandered up to the table and stood over them. "It's a shame that you two cannot spend your honeymoon in India," he said. "I know you'd love to see it again, Amita, and show off your homeland to Charles."

"They'll go later," said Katie confidently. "It's just too big a risk for Charlie to leave the country yet. At least not for a third-world destination," she added, looking apologetically at Amita.

"You're right, of course," Amita answered. "I'm just so happy to still have Charlie here. We don't need to go to India right now."

"I'm going back to the buffet." Alan stood and looked around. "Anyone care to join me?"

Larry gave Charlie a squeeze on the shoulder. "I'll walk with you Alan. I seem to have left my laptop on another table…"

The table lapsed into silence, and Don wished he had another beer. Hell, Don wished he had a bottle of tequila and a straw. He saw Katie look at her watch and frown.

"Oh rats, I've gotta go. I'm working tonight."

"Katie!" Amita was shocked. "You're coming to my wedding after working all night?"

Katie winked at Don, which he found disconcerting, yet still pleasant. "Don't worry, not _all_ night," she laughed. "I'm just covering for a friend for a few hours. She's picking up her husband at the airport tonight. Hasn't seen him in almost _two months_." She sighed dramatically as she stood to leave. "Sometimes a girl's gotta…well, sometimes a girl has to be tackled."

There was a strange buzzing in Don's ears as he stood to say good night to Katie, but he could still hear Charlie laughing at him. "No time like the present," he thought, turning back toward the table. "Hey Charlie? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Charlie glanced at Amita, who suddenly seemed extremely interested in her plate of food, then stood to walk around the table to Don. "Sure," he said, a little nervously. "Let's take a walk."

NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS

The two brothers wandered the hotel hallways until they found the restaurant. Don was happy to learn they served liquor, and as he ordered his tequila (no straw), Charlie reached out his hand. "Give me your keys."

"It's only one drink, Charlie, and I haven't even had it yet!" Don protested.

"I counted your beers at the dinner," Charlie answered. "And now you're headed for the hard stuff. Give me your keys." Don acquiesced, and Charlie added, "You'd better not show up at my wedding with a hangover."

"If you had let me throw you the traditional bachelor party," snorted Don, "_you'd_ be showing up at your wedding with a hangover."

Charlie grinned. "I'm sure Colby is disappointed."

Don laughed as the tequila and Charlie's bottled water arrived. "I'm sure Colby's having the party anyway — with or without you."

He was wondering how to transition when Charlie did it for him. "Don, I'm sorry about lunch."

"No, Buddy, I'm sorry. That was a really nasty thing to say."

Charlie smiled. "It's okay, Don, I know you didn't say it to hurt me. It was actually kind of funny. In a sick little way."

Don felt a little relief. "About what you asked me…", he started, but Charlie interrupted.

"Pretend that never happened. I'm sorry I did that."

Don knew he had not had enough tequila, because he actually felt a little disappointed.

"I mean," Charlie was continuing, "I know stranger things have happened. People do this sort of thing all the time — Amita showed me magazine stories."

Don almost sprayed Charlie's face again, this time with tequila, but managed to keep the liquid in his mouth. He wasn't sure he had ever heard Charlie talk so long before about something that didn't involve numbers.

Charlie took a sip of water. "I was never comfortable with asking," he confessed. "There are other things we can do." He looked at Don. "_I_ showed _Amita _magazine stories, too."

Don waited.

"I'm not saying the people who do this are wrong. Everyone has to find his or her own peace. And Amita is not wrong for wanting this." Charlie sighed, and Don knew that despite the surrealness of this conversation, the situation was taking its toll on Charlie. "I promised her I would ask you. _Three months ago_. And after all that time, you see how well I handled it."

Don interjected a soft "Charlie…", but his brother held up his hand.

"Let me say this. The thing is, Don, if I can't even reach some level of comfort is asking you to do this, how could I ever deal with the…consequences? How could I raise my brother's child, pretending to all the world that child is mine?"

"You've been thinking about this for a while," Don said, "and I've only had a few hours. But there must be…I don't know, therapy or something…in a situation like this."

Charlie slumped a little in his seat. "We've seen a therapist," he said. Don was shocked. "I've seen one alone, too," Charlie said, and he looked so sad that Don felt his own heart crack a little. "I want to give Amita everything."

They were silent, then. Don ordered another tequila before he spoke. "Maybe if the three of us went together," he finally suggested, hurrying to add, "I mean, I'm not saying I would do this, but the least I can do for you is…research?"

Charlie put the bottle of water on the table and straightened. "No," he said, and waited until he was sure Don was sober, and looking at him. "Talking ourselves into this — letting someone else talk us into it — would be wrong. _This would be a child_, Don. That's too big a mistake to make for someone else. And don't ever say something like that," he added fiercely. "You passed 'the least you could do' for me quite some time ago."

Don listened to the ice melt in his glass.

"What are you going to do?" he finally asked.

Charlie just looked at him. "I'm going to drive you home," he said. "And then I'm going to talk to Amita."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

Someone was pounding on Don's head. No. Someone was pounding on Don's door. Wait. There were two people. One had a sledgehammer in Don's head, and the other was taking a sledgehammer to his door. He groaned, rolled over, and opened one eye. After some time, he found the alarm clock. Five a.m. Who would be at his door at 5 a.m.? He decided he didn't care. Charlie had brought him home at midnight, but Don must be becoming a lightweight. He couldn't handle it anymore. He needed some more sleep before the long day of Charlie's wedding. He heard more pounding. Who would be at his door at 5 a.m.?

"DOOONNNNNNIIIIIEEE!"

Was that Charlie? That couldn't be Charlie. Charlie didn't scream. Charlie didn't come to Don's apartment at 5 a.m. on the day of his wedding.

Damn. It must be Charlie.

The long wail started again, and Don forced himself out of bed. Passing the bathroom on the way to the door, he stepped inside and quickly opened the medicine cabinet and downed three aspirin. Lightweight or not, at least he remembered where those were.

"DOOONNNNNNIIIIIEEE!"

He looked through the peephole to be sure, then jerked open the door. Charlie stood there, smiling brightly. One of them was swaying.

"Charlie, what the hell are you doing?" Don grabbed an arm and dragged his brother inside, but not before he saw a door open down the hall. Mrs. Mendolssohn, hair in curlers (did they even _make_ those anymore?), glared at him. "Sorry," he muttered, quietly shutting the door behind Charlie.

The two stood and stared at each other. Charlie was still smiling. He lifted up a hand and offered Don a bottle. " 'Killya," he said.

Don recognized the gold liquid and grabbed the bottle. "Charlie," he said quietly, mostly because there was still someone in his head with a sledgehammer, "what did you do?"

Charlie took his now empty hand and grasped Don firmly at the back of his head. He leaned forward, swaying dangerously. "I. Am. Drunk."

Don pushed him back. "I can smell that, Charlie." He lifted the bottle and looked at it — a fifth, almost half empty. "Did you drink all this?"

Charlie had lifted his other hand, and was staring at it. He appeared to be counting his fingers. Don took a good look at his brother. He was wearing the same thing he had been wearing last time he saw him, when he had called a cab from Don's apartment and headed over to Amita's, except his jacket was missing and the knees of his jeans were ripped. He could see that at least one knee was bloody, and the jeans were ripped farther down on his shin, as well. He saw blood on his brother's tennis shoe, and that sobered him right up. "What happened to you?"

"HELLO!" Charlie suddenly yelled, smiling at Don again. "When did you get here?"

Don sighed. No wonder Charlie didn't drink. "Come on, Buddy, let's go get you cleaned up," he said, reaching again for Charlie's arm.

Charlie pulled back with surprising speed and strength. "Wait," he whispered. "Wait just a minute." Looking around for — well, for who knows what — Charlie turned and opened Don's front door again. He looked both ways, like he had been taught. Then he threw up in the hallway.

Don took one look at last night's buffet, and made his own contribution, which landed more in the apartment and on Charlie than in the hallway. "Oh, damn." Don lurched into the kitchen and opened the utility closet, to grab the mop he hadn't used since the last time he'd had too much to drink, but he still had Charlie's half-full bottle in his hand. He put the bottle in the bottom of the closet when he got the mop and bucket. He didn't know what else to do with it. Charlie had closed the door again, and appeared to be sliding down it. He was about to land in Don's…Don bolted back out of the kitchen and caught Charlie. "Take your shoes off," he gasped. "You're not tracking that down my hall."

Charlie obediently kicked off his shoes. He didn't seem to have much to say as Don guided him to the bathroom. At least he wasn't screaming anymore. Don sat him down on the edge of the bathtub, and hurried into the bedroom, where he grabbed the first pair of sweats he could find, as well as a t-shirt and socks. He went back to the bathroom, where he found Charlie sitting _in_ the bathtub, fully clothed.

"Can you take a shower, Charlie? Am I gonna have to help you?" Charlie smiled up at him dreamily.

"I fell down," he said.

"Sorry, Buddy," Don muttered, and turned on the shower over Charlie's head, full-tilt, cold.

Charlie yelped and came to his feet in one motion. They would have flown out from under him if Don didn't already have ahold of him, forcing him to stay under the water. When Charlie could successfully identify Don, and a number of physically impossible things he wanted Don to do, he let go. He added some warm water. Charlie was shivering. "Take your clothes off, finish the shower," Don ordered. "There are some dry things here to wear."

Then he headed back for the front door, and all the glory that awaited him there.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 

Don cleaned up the hallway, too, because he was a good tenant. Taking everything back to the closet, he glanced at the clock. 5:30. Had it only been half an hour? He washed his hands, then held a glass of cold water to his head. He walked past the bathroom — the shower was still running — , went to the bedroom and changed his clothes. It didn't help much. He tried to think. 5:30. A limo was supposed to pick up the three Eppes men at 4:00 p.m. at Charlie's house. That meant his dad would be in a panic by…probably by now. He had to get Charlie in bed, leave him there until about noon and then start pouring coffee in him.

He padded back to the bathroom. He didn't hear the water anymore, and he knocked on the door. "Charlie?"

"Mmmfphh."

"What?" No answer. He opened the door cautiously. Charlie sat on the floor, near the toilet. Don didn't have to guess why. His eyes were drawn again to his brother's leg. Blood was already seeping into the sweats. Don opened the medicine cabinet again and took out the first aid kit, then sat on the floor himself. He pulled the soft material up past Charlie's knee, and winced. "Do you know how you did this?"

"Stairway," mumbled Charlie.

Don looked at the cut on Charlie's shin. "Did you have to pull your leg out or something?"

"Don't remember. Don't feel good."

"All right, all right, just let me clean this up." Don gently cleaned the cut on Charlie's leg, as well as his two skinned knees, applied antibiotic cream and bandages, and finally tried to hand him some Tylenol. "You're gonna want this," he said.

Charlie pushed his hand away. "Not now," he groaned.

Don stood, knees protesting and creaking — like he was a 40-year-old man who had no business doing this kind of thing to them anymore — and managed to persuade Charlie up as well. He steered him into the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed. "Didn't have time to change the sheets," he apologized, but Charlie had flopped down on the pillows as though he had no bones. Don tried to speak fast, before his brother fell asleep. "I'll call Dad," he said. "Tell him we'll be at the house around 1. He may come over here after us anyway," he warned. "He's pretty manic about this wedding."

Charlie rolled painfully over onto his stomach, clutching a pillow and talking into it. Don wasn't sure he heard him right. It sounded like Charlie said "no wedding. 'Mita's gone."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 

Reviving Charlie wasn't going to happen for a while. The problem was, they didn't really have a while. Don contemplated his brother for a moment, then grabbed his cell phone and left the room. He walked toward the living room while he flipped the cell open and speed-dialed his father.

"Hello?" Great. Obviously, from the chipper sound of it, he was up already.

"Dad."

"Donnie! Good morning, son!"

Don sat down on he couch. He needed to sit down. "Dad…why are you up already?"

Alan chuckled. "I could ask you the same thing. I wanted to make Charlie a special wedding-morning breakfast. Why don't you come over and join us? You're obviously awake already." His voice grew concerned. "Or are you working?"

Don took a breath. "Dad…Charlie's with me."

"What?" Alan sounded confused. "I know you two left the dinner together, and I didn't hear him come home…did you talk him into an impromptu bachelor party after all?"

"No, we just had to, um, talk about something. He let me have a few drinks, but he had water and then drove me home."

Alan laughed again. "That's your brother. Water and talk at his own bachelor non-party."

"Yeah, well…I'm not sure the guy passed out in my bed _is_ my brother."

Don heard the sound of a chair scrapping across the floor, and soon Alan's voice. "Okay. I'm sitting down now. What did you just say?"

"I think you heard me, Dad."

Confusion again. "I thought you said he had water?"

"He did. He left my place by midnight — called a cab to go to Amita's. The next thing I know, it's 5 a.m. and he's back at my front door, drunk."

"He had a bachelor party with the bride?"

"I don't think it was a party."

After a moment of silence, Alan spoke cautiously. "What do you mean?"

"He's out like a light, Dad, and I couldn't get much out of him before he passed out…unless you count last night's buffet…"

"And?"

"And I think the last thing he said…he said, well, he said Amita's gone. He said there's no wedding."

"_**Mishigas!"**_

Great. Super. His father was resorting to Yiddish curses.

Alan slipped back into English. "Do you think he was serious?"

"It's Charlie, Dad. He's drunk. That alone sounds pretty serious to me."

More silence. Then, "I'm coming over there."

"Believe it or not, Dad, I think you'd better."

That, more than anything else he had heard, frightened Alan. "I'm coming now."

"Maybe you should drive by Amita's on the way. See if her car is there."

"Good idea. You call Larry. Maybe he knows something."

Don tried not to sigh. "Okay, Dad. See you soon."

Disonnecting from his father, Don immediately hit Larry's speed dial.

He must have checked the ID before he answered. "Don?" his voice squeaked a little. This one he had woken up. "My goodness. How are you?"

Don game him the Reader's Digest condensed version, ending with, "Did you see or hear from him last night?"

"Oh, my. No, no, I…just a moment, Don…" Soon Larry's voice came back. "May I phone you back? I have a voice mail, left at 3:00 a.m."

Don's heart dropped. "Who from?"

"I really can't tell, Don, until I listen to it. I'm afraid I settled for a rather base model of cellular telephone."

"Okay, okay. I'll wait to hear from you."

Don disconnected again, got up, and walked back to his bedroom. He stood in the doorway and looked at Charlie. The sight of him sleeping, pale, with a thin sheen of sweat on his face, which even in his sleep was drawn with pain…it was too familiar. Unbidden, memories crowded his mind. The hours he had spent with Charlie when he was being treated for leukemia. The days he couldn't be with him, when he was in isolation, and Don had to watch his suffering through a window. The feelings of unadulterated helplessness, and lonliness. The breaking of a heart already weakened by earlier losses…

But familiar, too, was the determination he felt rising in him. The absolute, all-consuming need to protect his brother. He headed back to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee. Then he flipped open the cell again, and made a few more calls.

A/N: "Mishigas" "Craziness!"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 

Larry called back. His lack of preamble, his lack of _amble_, in general, convinced Don that Larry was as in the dark as he was. "It was Amita. She asked me to inform the university that she is taking a leave of absence, beyond the three weeks she had already arranged for the…the honeymoon."

"No details?", asked Don.

"None. If I had not heard from you first, I would never have inferred from this message that it meant anything but a honeymoon extension."

Don thanked Larry, assuring him that he would call again as he figured things out. Then he paced, and tried to figure things out.

He checked his watch again. 6:15. There probably would not be anyone in the catering office at the hotel, but he might as well try. To his surprise, someone answered, identifying herself as the catering scheduler.

"I'm calling about the Ramanujan-Eppes wedding," he began.

"Yes, I just listened to that voice mail," interrupted a somewhat harried voice. "Of course we were sorry to learn that the ceremony is cancelled. Has there been another change?"

Don was temporarily nonplussed, finally asking, "Could you tell me who left the voice mail?"

"Let me check…ah, here it is. The intended bride, Ms. Ramanujan called. The time on the message was around 3:30 this morning…bad rehearsal, I guess."

When Don didn't answer right away, the woman apologized. "Forgive me, that was in poor taste. I would reprimand one of my employees for that — if I had any."

Don tried to seem friendly, in case she had any more information. "So that's what you're doing at work at 6:15 in the morning?"

She chuckled drily. "I'm afraid so. Again, I apologize."

"No problem," he assured her.

"The hotel does have a policy," she added hesitantly, "I hope you understand. When there is less than 48 hours notice on a thing like this, we simply cannot offer a refund."

"Of course. Was the hotel coordinating everything?"

"Well, catering and room rental, of course, and Ms. Ramanujan was also using our florist, I believe. At least her message asked me to pass the cancellation on to them."

Don heard knocking, and headed for the door. "Thank you. I appreciate your time," he said, as he disconnected. Opening the door, he found his father.

Alan was clutching a sheet of paper. He pushed past Don and headed toward the bedroom. "I want to see your brother." Don let him go and retreated to the kitchen. He had two cups of coffee waiting when Alan found him just a few moments later. "I can't wake him up," he said miserably, accepting a cup and sitting on one of the stools at the counter. "I straightened the covers. What happened to his leg?"

"Not sure," shrugged Don, sitting down on the opposite side of the counter. "He said something about stairs. Both his knees are skinned and he has a pretty nasty cut on his right shin.." Then he filled Alan in on what he had learned from Larry and the catering scheduler at the hotel. "What about you?" he finally asked. "Is Amita's car at her apartment?"

"I didn't see it," answered Alan, "but I went up to her apartment anyway. I was going to knock, but this was taped to the door."

Alan pushed the piece of paper he had been clutching across the counter at Don. He recognized Amita's neat hand. The four words didn't take long to read: "Charlie, I'm sorry. Amita."

"Shit," he muttered, then looked guiltily at Alan. "Sorry, Dad."

Alan was rubbing his chin with one hand. "Don't apologize, Don. I think 'shit' is pretty much what we're standing in the middle of here."

Don's cell rang, startling them both. "Eppes," he barked into it. "Megan, hi. What've you got?" He frowned. "Where? When? Yeah, okay…let me know what happens. And thanks, Megan." He disconnected, and looked at his father. "Amita bought an airline ticket."

"Megan found that out?"

"Yeah. Colby is at the cab company, trying to connect with the driver who picked Charlie up here…if anybody can track Charlie for those five hours, it's Colby."

Alan took another drink of coffee. "You have good friends. Where is Amita going? Or has she already gone?"

Don stood and crossed to the refrigerator. Charlie and Amita's wedding invitation was stuck to the door with a magnet. He ripped it down and tossed it in the sink, for lack of a better destination. "India," he finally said. "The flight hasn't left yet, but will within the hour. Megan's going to the airport, to see if she can catch her, and talk to her."

"She'll never get past all that security to the gate."

Don raised his eyebrows. "She's an FBI agent, Dad. She's Megan. Who do you think is gonna stop her?"

Alan extended his empty coffee cup to Don, who filled it up again. "So what do we do now, Agent Eppes?"

Don handed his cell phone to his father as he passed by him, saying, "I'm taking a shower. Answer this if it rings — it might be Colby. Then…" he stopped momentarily, realizing he had no further plan than waiting for people to call him. "Ah, hell, Dad," he said dejectedly, heading back down the hall. "I don't know what we're gonna do."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 

Colby called while Don was in the shower, and told Alan that he had talked with the cab driver, who took Charlie to Amita's apartment, and that's all. While he was talking to dispatch, though, he found out that another driver took someone — someone who matched Charlie's description — to Amita's apartment around 4. That ride had been picked up at an all-night liquor store, and he was carrying a bottle in each hand. He was drunk enough that the driver had to instruct him how to let go of one bottle in order to find his wallet and pay, once they got there. Colby had gone by the office and grabbed Charlie and Amita's engagement photo off Don's desk. Now he was going to show it to the clerk at the liquor store, and the second cab driver, who was still on duty.

Alan passed all this information to Don when he emerged from the shower, and finished just in time for Don to catch the next call. Megan. He wandered off pacing while he was on the call, and Alan couldn't hear it all. Finding Don on the living room couch, he waited. "Well?"

"She missed her," Don answered gloomily. "Flight took off 10 minutes before Megan got there. Amita was definitely on it."

Alan studied his son, then reached for the cell phone again. "Give it to me, Don. Lay down and take a nap. I'll wake you when…I'll wake you in a couple of hours."

Don looked at his watch. Almost 8:30 now. Charlie had been out for three hours. "Two hours, Dad, that's it. Then we'll try again to wake Charlie.'

He dreamed again of gelatin.

Since Charlie's bone marrow stem cell transplant last year, this had become a recurring theme. It happened when he was stressed, embroiled in a case he could not solve. He was beginning to take gelatin dreams as signs that it was time to call in Charlie to consult.

This time, the gelatin was lemon. All of it. There was one large mold of gelatin sitting in the middle of a table, which was otherwise empty, except for that damn spoon. There was always a talking spoon. The spoon poked at the gelatin with fingers it did not have. "Watch it wiggle," it said. "Gelatin never stands still." The spoon wandered around to another point in the gelatin and poked at it again. "Pay attention," it said, angrily. In his sleep, Don was surprised. The spoon had never been angry before. "You can't catch it," it said. "Stop trying." Suddenly the gelatin mold began to split, and even though it was yellow, it seemed to be bleeding something red. A thin, high whine came out of it, and the angry spoon covered its non-ears. "Knock it off," the spoon begged. The gelatin began to reform, into something Don couldn't quite identify. Salsa music started to play, and the spoon began to dance. "I need a woman," it said. Then it reached out to Don. "You dance with me instead," said the spoon, and Don tried to jerk his arm away.

"Donnie! You're dreaming. Wake up, now!"

Don's eyes popped open, and he stared at his father. He blinked a few times, then sat up slowly, and rubbed his hand over his face. "What time is it?", he finally asked.

"Almost 11," said Alan. "Should I have let you sleep longer?"

Suddenly the last 30 hours washed over Don and he reached out and grabbed his father's arm. "What's happening? Did Colby call again?"

Alan joined his son on the couch. "Yes," he started, "about an hour ago. The liquor store clerk ID'd Charlie. The cab driver thought Charlie turned him in for stealing his jacket, and panicked. Colby had to chase him down…I guess he's got a record he was hiding from his employers."

"Then he ID'd him too."

"Yes. And returned the jacket. Also the bottle of scotch."

Don looked at his father. "He was drinking scotch with one hand and tequila with the other?"

"Apparently." The two sat for a moment, contemplating that feat. "Oh," Alan suddenly added. "The driver said he tripped getting out, fell on his knees."

"Well that explains that much, anyway," said Don. "Knees down, shin to go. What else did Colby say?"

"Well, he was already drunk when he got to the liquor store. The clerk never should have sold him more. Colby's checking all the bars between Amita's and the store, trying to figure out where he started drinking."

"Scotch with one hand and tequila with the other," Don said wonderingly. "Damn."

Alan stood. "Let's go wake him up. He's been sleeping over five hours. Maybe he can fill in some of the blanks now."

He grasped Don's hand and helped pull him off the couch, and the two headed for the bedroom. Once there, they approached the bed silently. Charlie was on his stomach, face down in the mattress. Literally — the bottom sheet was lying on the floor, and the pillows were at the foot of the bed. Alan sat down on the edge. "Charlie?" he called softly.

"Charlie!" Don spoke more loudly, and pushed at his brother's shoulder. "Watch it wiggle," said something in the back of his brain, and he shook his head a little.

Charlie groaned.

"Roll over, son," instructed Alan, using the special father voice he saved for moments like this, and it worked again — Charlie awkwardly pushed at the mattress with his hands and flopped himself over.

"Turn off the light," he whispered.

"It's not on," Don studied him. He didn't like the way he looked. True, he had leant new meaning to the phrase "two fisted drinker", and he had just had his face planted in a mattress, but still…he leaned over and placed a hand on Charlie's forehead. "He's really warm," he said to his father, who pushed his hand away with his own.

"You're right. It's been awhile since I had a hangover, but I don't remember them causing fevers."

Don had moved to the end of the bed and started to lift up the sweats to check on Charlie's leg. His brother hissed and jerked away from him.

"Don't," he whispered. "Stop stabbing me."

Alan helped hold Charlie's leg down then, and Don finally got a look. Even beyond the white bandage, he could see an angry red swelling. He touched the leg and jerked his hand back. "Wow," was all he could think of to say. He reached in his pocket for his cell phone, but Alan still had it.

His father handed him the phone and then placed his own hand on Charlie's leg.

"**_Hahsem-yisborekh ariber_**". He slipped into Yiddish again and looked at Don with frightened eyes.

Don heard him, and the Yiddish registered somewhere in his brain, but he didn't see him. He was scrolling through the phone's address book, finally finding what he wanted.

He put the phone to his ear, and his free hand on his father's shoulder.

"Katie! Thank God…it's Don."

"Don, hello! I just heard about Charlie and Amita! The wedding planner called me and told me it's been cancelled. Are they all right?"

"Listen, Katie, I don't have time for details right now, but Charlie showed up at my door early this morning, drunk, and hurt a little. I don't really know everything that happened, Anyway, my Dad and I just came in to wake him up, and he's got a fever. The leg that has a cut is red, and swollen, and really hot…"

Katie was all business, now, he could hear it in her tone. "He has a cut on his leg?"

"Yeah. I cleaned it up and put something on it before I poured him into bed…"

"Don, this is serious. He's still making new bone marrow, infections are still life threatening for him. Take him to the ER. Do it right now, Don. If you and your Dad can't get him to the car, call an ambulance. I'll call Dr. Stevens, and then I'll meet you there. Tell me where you're going."

"Huntington Memorial is the closest to my apartment," Don said, and he saw his father blanch.

"Good. Go. Go now."

"**_Hahsem-yisborekh ariber_**" "God Above"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Just a tiny offering to keep your interest going.

Chapter 10

This was not happening.

He was not standing in a hospital again, feet rooted to the floor.

Green-scrubbed people did not just push him out of the way. They did not really separate him from Charlie. They could not have, because he still felt the pressure of his brother's hand in his. He still saw his eyes, glassy from fever, and alcohol, staring up at him from a gurney. They were not empty. They were not. His brother was still in there somewhere; hurt, both physically and emotionally. He just had to find him.

He was not watching his father age 10 years every hour. He did not see Katie sitting next to Alan, holding his hand, sneaking glances at her watch because what she was really doing was checking his respirations and taking his pulse. He was glad he did not know that.

He had not seen Dr. Richard Stevens enter, did not hear him offer to consult with Huntington Memorial's team. Consult. Charlie consulted.

He did not see Megan hurrying down the hall, he did not accept her brief hug. He did not let her lead him to a chair near his father, because he had not been standing in the middle of the hallway, feet rooted to the floor, in the first place.

This was worse than the gelatin dream. He would apologize to the spoon, next time he saw him. This dream was worse. This was the worst dream he had ever had, and he needed it to be over. It had to be a dream. He knew that it was a dream.

Because after all, this was not happening.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 

Dr. Stevens stood over them. Don wasn't sure how long he had been there. Before he could ask, the doctor spoke. "Both of you. Come with me." His tone brooked no argument. Don and Alan did as they were told.

When they walked out the ambulance bay door, into the sunshine, Don stopped. "What are we doing?"

"Charlie's being admitted. You can't see him yet, so I thought we'd talk out here." The doctor had led them around a series of corners, and suddenly they were in a courtyard. Several benches surrounded a fountain. For a hospital, it was a pretty peaceful setting. "You both looked like you could use some air," he added, indicating that they should sit.

Alan did, but the air had snapped some sense back into Don's synapses. "How bad is it?"

"They're going to keep him a few days to run intravenous antibiotics; make sure that infected leg doesn't get any worse." Dr. Stevens looked directly at Don. "The alcohol is a complication. He's still on immunosuppressive agents, to prevent opportunistic post-transplant infections, and alcohol becomes more toxic in that situation."

Don blanched. "I knew that. I mean, I knew he was still on medication…I should have made the connection…"

The doctor interrupted. "Were you with him when he started drinking?"

"No. He came to my apartment this morning, drunk."

"Then I'm sure you didn't know how much he had to drink. You probably still don't know…and I doubt if he'll ever be able to tell you. This isn't your responsibility, Don, you didn't do anything wrong."

When Don shook his head to protest, Alan spoke for the first time. "You didn't, Donnie. Charlie is an educated man, a grown man. He makes his own decisions."

"Your father's right. I just can't believe this was one of them. He told me he didn't drink. At all."

"He doesn't," Don answered.

"Katie told me he and his fiancé cancelled their wedding last night?"

"I'm not sure what happened last night. I'm working on it. But that part I've verified."

The doctor began to circle the fountain, thinking. "Okay, then. Given the stress, his size, his unfamiliarity with alcohol…maybe it didn't take all that much to get him drunk." He completed the circle and stood next to Don again. "At any rate, we'll stop the immunosuppressive drugs until the infection clears up."

"Has he been awake?" It was Alan's voice. "You couldn't get any details from him?"

Hands on hips, Dr. Stevens shook his head. "He's been conscious, but almost non-responsive. He doesn't have a great memory of last night, for one thing, but it's more than that. It's almost like he doesn't even care."

Don shivered, even though it was quite warm. "That can't be good."

"No," answered the doctor seriously. "It won't be. So much of how we respond to medical treatment is dependent upon…well, dependent upon that which cannot be treated. He's very withdrawn. When you see him, remind him of what he hasn't lost. But don't minimize what he has — Charlie has to face his loss, and find a way to deal with it." He turned to lead the way back inside. "First, though, first — we have to give him a reason."

When they got back inside, Dr. Stevens continued on to check on Charlie's admission, and Don and Alan found Colby sitting with Megan and Katie. The walk had grounded Don, brought him back to himself. "What've you got?" he barked, and Colby responded to that tone as if it were just another case.

"Checked all the bars between Amita's and the liquor store. Found a bartender at Slinky's that recognized his photo."

"_Slinky's_?" Don was shocked again. "Isn't that a gay bar?"

"Well I don't think Charlie knew that," Colby answered. "Bartender said he just sat at the bar. Threw two back as soon as he got there, took his time with a third, was really nursing a fourth when some guy hit on him…that's when he cut his leg."

Katie's eyebrows shot up. "This is getting good."

Don shot her a withering glance, and Colby continued. "Slinky's is a basement bar — there's a stairway leading down to it. I guess after the guy hit on Charlie, he lit out of there so fast, he took the stairs three at a time; slammed his shin on the way up. Two guys going down tried to help him, but he wasn't too cooperative."

"Did he go somewhere else?" Megan asked. "I thought the liquor store owner said he was drunk when he showed up there."

Colby checked his notes. "Got to Slinky's around 2, left around an hour later. The clerk at the liquor store thinks he got there around 3:30. Bought two bottles and asked the guy to call him a cab. Cab takes him back to Amita's." He looked at Don. "An hour later, he's at your place."

"Can't hold his liquor," Alan interjected. "What?" he protested when everyone turned to him in various stages of surprise. "I'm just saying, I can believe he was drunk off three drinks."

"Dad's right. I've only seem him try to drink once, years ago, and if I remember correctly he didn't have much of a talent for it." Don thought for a moment. "Well, now we know where he was all night. We just don't know what happened with Amita." He put his arm protectively around his father's back."Let's find out if we can see Charlie yet." Turning back to his three friends, he shrugged. "You guys should see if you can salvage some Saturday for yourselves. Thanks for everything you've all done."

Alan stepped up to shake Colby's hand and give Megan and Katie quick hugs. "Really, we appreciate your help."

Katie turned her hug into a peck on the cheek. "I'm off today," she said quietly. "I'll stay awhile, if you don't mind."

Dr. Stevens returned at that moment, checking a pager in his hand. "Don, Alan. I've got to take another emergency, but I wanted to tell you that Charlie's up in his room. I'm sure Katie can figure out how to get you there. I'll be coming by periodically to check on him, so call me if you have questions."

After Megan, Colby and Dr. Stevens left, Don and Alan followed Katie, who seemed to know what she was doing. Sooner than he was prepared for, Don found himself looking at Charlie again, who was staring up at an IV pole sporting a saline unit piggybacked with antibiotics. He turned toward the door when he heard them enter.

"Charlie," Alan was across the floor in an instant. "Son. You're all right?"

"Sure," said Charlie, in a voice that was anything but all right. His father leaned in give him the hug he had been saving for him all day, and Charlie looked at Don over his father's shoulder.

Don felt his blood run cold. He hadn't seen that look since…since their mother's funeral. Not even during the darkest moments of Charlie's own illness had he allowed such despair. Dr. Stevens was right. It wasn't the physical they had to worry about.

Eyes locked with his brother's, Don felt a rage rising within him. Charlie had fought back, against nearly losing himself when they'd lost Mom, against nearly losing himself to leukemia…he had fought back, and he had created for himself the life he really wanted. He had dared to love. She had done this. For whatever reason, she had done this. He wanted to storm out of the room, drive straight to the airport, and go to India himself. He wanted to find Amita…not to bring her back for Charlie. No. No, he wanted to find Amita so that he could kill her.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry. I have to do this to you. Chapter 12 

"Leave. Please."

Alan and Katie had been standing at the window, talking quietly. Don sat near the bed. Charlie's eyes had been closed for almost 20 minutes. He had thought he was asleep.

"Son…"

Charlie restlessly moved his legs, winced at the reminder that he shouldn't do that.

"I'm sorry." He ran his hand through his hair. When Don did that, it was a sign of frustration — but he knew that when Charlie did that, it signaled nervousness. "Wait. I'm not sorry."

"Charlie?"

Charlie didn't appear to hear his brother. "I mean, I'm sorry that this will hurt your feelings. I'm not sorry to ask for it anyway. I need you to leave. I need to be alone."

Don tracked Charlie's eyes. He kept looking at the door…Shit. He was looking at the clock over the door. It was 15 minutes before the wedding had been scheduled to start. Don stood and hesitantly approached. "Are you sure…"

"Leave me alone!" Charlie's voice was nearing hysteria. "Please, give me this. Give me this night alone."

"But Charlie…"

"Dad," Don interrupted his father. "Charlie's tired. Let's go now. Katie?"

With his father still protesting, Don herded them toward the door. Before it swung shut behind them, Don heard Charlie's voice again.

"Don't come back."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 

Don had gone home with Alan, because he didn't want his father to be alone. He didn't want Charlie to be alone, either, but he didn't really have much to say about that. "I'm sure he meant 'don't come back _tonight_', Dad." The older man looked so heartbroken, Don felt as if he had to say something.

"You don't think he'll do something stupid do you? Go after her?"

Geez. Some FBI agent — he hadn't even considered the possibility. Don grabbed his cell, walked into the solarium, and made a call. When he came back out, he found his father in the kitchen. "I called in a favor. I've got a watch on his passport. He can't try to board an international flight without being detained."

"Thank you." Alan opened the refrigerator. Closed it again. "You hungry?"

Don sat at the table and closed his eyes. "Nah. Is it really only 6:30?"

"Been a long day, son. Been a long day."

It was about to get longer. He didn't tell his father about the second phone call he had made.

NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS

"This time it isn't just my career," she hissed, her back pressed tightly against the wall. They were in the stairwell, but had heard footsteps approaching. They froze, but the steps kept going past the door. "This isn't even my hospital. I could get freakin' _arrested_, here."

"Don't worry," he said, and flashed his badge at her. "You'd be surprised how many people this impresses."

"I don't know why you needed me, anyway."

"I told you, Katie. You know your way around here, I could tell that this afternoon."

"All right, so I worked here once. I could have drawn you a map."

"Besides that, I need someone medically trained. To help."

A quiet sigh of frustration. "Let's just do this."

Don quietly opened the door, peered cautiously down the hallway, then beckoned for her to follow him. They were carrying their shoes, to cut down on the noise. Footsteps again. Don grabbed Katie's arm, opened the first door he came to, and dragged her in. They waited. The footsteps stopped directly outside the door, and they held their breath.

"Dammit," they heard a soft mutter. "Forgot the key."

Key? What key? The door hadn't been locked. Don took out his flashlight to see where they were. His intake of breath was louder than he'd intended. "I thought the morgue was in the basement."

"This isn't the morgue, stupid. It's a research lab. There are live things locked up in there. Someone's probably coming to feed them. To feed _us_ to them."

"Then let's get out of here."

Again, the hallway. Three corners turned. Things were finally starting to look like the middle of the night. They paused for a moment in the shelter of the last corner they had to turn, and it was a good thing. Don watched someone leave Charlie's room.

"That should have been her 3 o'clock," Katie whispered. "No one will be back for an hour, unless Charlie calls them."

Sprint across the hallway, Katie's socks slipping so that Don had to support her. (At least that's what she had intended, when she picked out these socks earlier, while they were planning their commando raid.) Don pushed the door open just far enough for the two of them to slip through. He snapped the flashlight on again. Charlie, startled, started to sit up in bed, started to speak, but Don pushed him back down while Katie clapped one hand over his mouth.

When he was sure Charlie was awake, and had recognized them…when he hoped Charlie wouldn't yell, he signaled Katie to lift her hand.

"Okay, Charlie," he said. "Spill it. What the hell happened last night?"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 

Charlie stared up at Don. "Let me up," he finally said.

Katie used the control to raise the head of his bed, then began rearranging his pillows behind him. "Wait a minute," she whispered. "I don't work here."

"Where are your shoes?" Charlie was looking at their feet.

"Never mind. Come on. We're sort of on a schedule, here."

Katie headed toward the door. "I'll stand watch," she said, reaching into the bathroom on the way to turn on the light. "I'm the gun moll here."

Don snapped off the flashlight, muttering. "I didn't bring my gun." He looked at Charlie. "Should I have, or are you gonna talk?"

Charlie carefully scooted up in the bed. He was stalling for time. He knew he had to say this, that Don would never let him not say this, but he hadn't said it out loud yet. So maybe it wasn't true.

Don cracked first. "Was it the sperm?"

_"What?"_ Even in the dim light from the bathroom, he could see Katie's eyes widen.

"I mean children. The issue of children. She was upset because I didn't say 'yes' right away?"

Charlie didn't even know where the anger came from. It left him almost breathless, but he did manage to grab Don's t-shirt in a death grip. "Not everything is about you, asshole." He wasn't even sure that had been his voice. He'd never heard that particular voice before. He had certainly never said anything like that to Don before. He let go and sank back against the pillows, the anger-fueled energy dissipating as quickly as it had appeared.

After a moment, he continued. "I left your apartment. When I got to Amita's, she was coming down the stairs. She was carrying a suitcase. She thought the cab that brought me was the one she had called."

"She was leaving for India?"

Charlie glanced sharply at his brother. "How much of this story do you know?"

"Not enough, Buddy. Keep going."

"If you want to hear this, you'll have to shut up," Charlie said tiredly. Resigned to his immediate fate, he went on. "Not for India, not at first. She was just going to the airport and getting on the first plane to anywhere." He looked up at his brother, and his voice almost disappeared. "She wasn't even going to tell me."

By now Don was sitting, and he was glad. "Are you kidding? She was just not going to show at her own wedding?"

"I told you to shut up. I rather enjoyed it. I'll say it as often as I have to."

"Sorry."

"So, I got her to go back upstairs with me, cancel the cab, talk to me. I thought it was the…the children issue…myself. But it wasn't…at least not the way I thought."

Don held up his hands, and refused to ask. Charlie sat up straighter in the bed. "She said she never thought I'd really ask you." He was looking at the bedspread. "When I did, the shock of thinking she might have to give up her career — even temporarily — made her start thinking about a lot of other stuff."

The silence went on so long, Don thought he would have to risk asking again. Then Charlie raised his head and looked at him, eyes confused, something in them beyond pain.

"She said she loved me…"

Katie's voice was soft. "…but she wasn't _in love_ with you."

Charlie couldn't keep an eagerness from entering his voice. "Did you speak with her?"

"No. No. I'm sorry. I, just, I…I watch a lot of movies."

Now disappointment was added to the mix in his eyes. "She said I was the best friend she ever had."

"…the best friend she ever hoped to have." This time Katie was walking back across the room. She sat on the edge of Charlie's bed, cupped his face in one hand, spoke as if in a dream. "And because you are her best friend, she only wants the best for you. You deserve someone who isn't afraid to raise children with you. Someone who looks forward to that. Someone who would rather be with you than in a physics research lab. Someone as special as you are…something like that?"

Charlie simply nodded. He grasped her hand with one of his, lowered them both to the bed between them.

"Charlie…Charlie, do you like me?"

"Of course!", he said, shocked. "I think you're great, you know that. Funny and smart and unpredictable…that's why I asked Amita if you could be in the wedding, I wanted to find a way to jumpstart Don…"

Too mesmerized by the interaction between his brother and Katie, Don had to let that go. He had to keep quiet, see what happened next.

"You think enough of me that you would like to see me with your brother." Katie looked at Don. "The person who means more to you than anyone else in the world. The guy who saved your life. The guy who _saves_ your life, all the time. You must think a great deal of me."

"Yes, I…"

"Shh, Charlie, listen. What you see here — the Katie you have known for the last year-and-a-half — this is the person I was able to put together with the pieces I had left. I think I did a pretty good job, and I didn't have as much to work with as you do! You're obviously more than intelligent, you're gentle, and tender, and funny, and loyal, and good looking…you inspire the kind of friends and family who will break into a hospital in the middle of the night for you. I could go on. Do you need me to go on?"

"No."

"What I'm trying to say is, you were all those things before you knew Amita. You will be all those things again. She didn't steal who you are, Charlie. Someday, the experience of having loved her, and having recovered from loving her…someday, that will _enrich_ who you are."

They all heard it at the same time. "Ah, for the love of Pete!" Dr. Stevens stood in the doorway, door swinging shut behind him. "Don't tell me I'm not seeing this again."

"Doctor! It's almost 4 in the morning! What…"

"I'm a doctor, Katie. I keep strange hours." He looked at Don. "Although not as strange as an FBI agent, I'm sure." He crossed the room, stood and looked at Charlie for a while. Finally, "it's late. Or early. Either way, I need coffee. Charlie needs some rest." He motioned Katie and Don out of their seats. "Say goodnight. Then, come. Walk with me. Talk with me." When Katie looked hesitantly at Don, he added, "Look, between my stethoscope and his badge, we can get you out of here alive."

As the three walked toward the door again, Dr. Stevens leaned to speak quietly in Katie's ear. "I didn't hear any of that, either," he said. "But you might want to consider a career change. I hear there's less subterfuge involved in counseling."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 

She stirred her coffee. "So," she said conversationally, looking at Don, "do you feel better now that you know why she left him?"

"I haven't gotten everything, yet. Why did he go back to Amita's?

"Well, Dr. Stevens just left to make his tee time, so we could probably safely sneak back in, if it that's important." When there was no answer, she had to ask. "Why is it that important?"

It was a simple question, but still Don had to think about the answer. "I haven't always been a good brother," he finally began.

Katie rolled her eyes. "You two," she said, "are the closest brothers I have ever seen. Like I said, I have three brothers. When I see you and Charlie together, I want to slap them around a little."

Don smiled. "I hope so." Blushing, he added, "Not that you slap your brothers around…I mean I hope that we are that close. It was hard, growing up. I was five years older, but he was light years ahead of me. I was a kid. Jealous. Confused. I took that out on Charlie."

"What about now?"

"Got worse when our mother got sick. Charlie was always light years ahead mentally, but pretty clueless emotionally. I was already jealous and confused, so I added angry to the mix."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. I guess we're both just getting older. Charlie started to catch up, emotionally. And after he started consulting with the FBI, I grew to appreciate the things about him that had always driven me crazy. When he got sick, then he really changed. He almost became a different man through that experience. A lot more open, more mature, more _centered_, somehow."

"Almost dying can do that to a person." The two sat in silence for awhile. "Okay, so you weren't always a great brother…"

"Oh, right. Well, since our relationship started to change, and especially since I almost lost him last year, I want to be. Maybe I want to make up to him all the grief I caused him earlier. And the only way I know to be good at something is to know as much about it as possible. The more I know about how, why Amita left…"

"…you still won't be able to change it."

Don looked at her sadly. "No, I guess I won't." He decided he had talked enough; it was time to turn the interrogation. "I gather from what you were saying to Charlie that you…um…well, you…"

"…was left at the altar myself?"

Don blushed again. Damn, this woman made him blush a lot. "Well, yeah. You seemed quite familiar with that 'best friends' speech."

She drained her coffee, smiled. She stood then, and offered her hand to Don. "Twice, actually," she said. "I'm not nearly as big a pushover now. Care to take me on?"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 

Charlie was sleeping, but he was restless. Alan had felt his forehead, and he knew without being told that his son still had a fever. The wound on his leg did not really look any worse — but it was no better either. Alan knew that, too, because they had put one of those fancy transparent film dressings on it. He tried not to look.

At a sound from the bed, Alan looked up from his book. Charlie's eyes had that REM thing going on — he was dreaming. He was frowning. He said something, but Alan couldn't quite make it out. He rose from the chair and approached the bed. This time he heard Charlie clearly. "I'm sorry!" He stretched his IV-less hand out in front of him. Alan was trying to decide whether he should wake him up when Charlie's eyes flew open, and he tried to sit up. "'Mita!"

"Sh, shh., Charlie, you're dreaming," soothed Alan, pushing his son gently back onto the bed. Charlie's eyes focused on his father, quickly shot around the room like he was inside a pinball machine, came back to his father. He clutched his shirt. "Was that real? Is she really gone?"

Alan raised one hand to brush the hair from his son's hot brow, the other to hold the hand that clutched his shirt. "Yes and no, son. Whatever you just experienced was a dream. You've been here in the hospital since yesterday afternoon."

One tear squeezed from each eye and rolled down Charlie's face, and the hand on his father's shirt tightened. "It wasn't a dream," he whispered. "More like a memory? She's gone?"

Although it hurt Alan to say it, he knew there was no way around it. He spoke as gently as he could. "Yes, my son."

Charlie released his death grip and rolled away from his father, toward the IV, curling as far into himself as his leg would allow. Alan was certain that must have hurt, but he was just as certain that it wasn't physical pain that was breaking out of Charlie now in huge, gasping sobs. Gut-wrenching, no sound coming out, no air going in, sobs. Charlie's shoulders heaved and Alan was concerned Charlie might make himself sick, and began to rub his back. "It's all right, son," he said over, and over. "It will be all right." Eventually Charlie subsided into periodic gasps. Not removing his hand from Charlie's back, Alan extended his leg behind him, hooked the chair, and dragged it closer to the bed.

That's how Don found them.

His father was sitting close to the bed, one hand on Charlie's back, head lying on the other arm on the bed, asleep. Charlie was curled up on his side, arms wrapped around his stomach like it hurt. He was sleeping, too, but Don could see the dried tears on his face. He was breathing with his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't get enough air through a stuffy nose, and the breathing sounded raspy to Don.

The door swung open and a nurse entered. Don was sorry it wasn't Katie. Of course, it couldn't be Katie, since she didn't even work here, but still – when Mark smiled at him brightly, it just didn't have the same affect.

Mark was carrying some tubing, which he attached to a receptacle in the wall.

Then he leaned over and gently shook Charlie to wake him. "Dr. Eppes? Dr. Eppes, I need you to wake up now."

Both Charlie and Alan woke up then, and Mark smiled at them both. "I'm so sorry. Hospitals are notorious for telling you to sleep, and then waking you up."

Alan stretched, slowly unwound himself from the chair, stood to join Don. "Donnie! Good to see you, son. You can tell me where you disappeared to last night."

Charlie's rearrangement was slower, and not much of his own power was involved. The nurse helped him turn to his back, checked his wound and respositioned the leg. Charlie coughed a few times. Mark, glancing at Charlie, laid the tubing down and crossed quickly to the bathroom. When he came back, he brought a cool wash cloth. "In case you'd like to wash your face," he said quietly, and Charlie found himself at a crossroads. On the one hand, he was touched that his comfort was obviously an issue to this nurse. On the other, he didn't really care what he looked like. The cool cloth felt so good on his hands, though, he finally raised it to his face, which seemed way too warm too him.

Don hadn't taken his eyes off the tubing. "What's that for?" he finally asked.

Mark accepted the cloth from Charlie, placed it on the bedside table and began to adjust the dials in the wall. "The on-call pulmonologist was here this afternoon," he began. "He's ordered a few tests tomorrow, and would like Charlie to be on oxygen until then."

Alan seemed startled. "Why? What tests?"

"Does that feel all right?" Mark was speaking to Charlie. "Good. You buzz if you need anything." Looking to Alan and Don, he gave a sympathethic grin. "I'm sorry. It's really not my position to say. I could ask the doctor to contact you…"

Alan bristled. "You can bet your life I want…"

"It's ok, Dad," Don interrupted, shooting Mark what everyone recognized as a smile of dismissal.

Alan looked expectantly at Don, who drew closer to the bed. "You doing ok, Charlie?"

An almost imperceptible nod, a quiet, "Tired."

"You go back to sleep. I'm going to make Dad eat some dinner."

At that, Charlie's eyes, which had been drooping, popped open again. He glanced worriedly at his father, and he coughed again.

"It's ok, Charlie, he's ok. We're just going to go down to the cafeteria for awhile. Is that all right? Would you like me to call Larry, or Megan first?"

Charlie's eyes were drooping again. The oxygen didn't seem to be making his breathing any easier. He shook his head, gave up, totally closed his eyes. "Tired," he said again.

"You sleep," Don said again, turning to lead his father out of the room. "We'll be back."

Alan refused to go any further than the hallway. "What?"

"I promised him, dad. Come with me to the cafeteria." Alan sighed, knowing Don well enough to know he'd never get anything out of him unless he did as he asked. The time to walk there, go through the line, find a table and finally sit — it seemed interminable to Alan. Knowing that Don was watching him, he took one bite of some nondeterminate pasta dish, a gulp of coffee, slammed the cup on the table. "What?", he said again.

Don knew his father, too. He lowered his own fork. "Dr. Stevens called me," he offered. "The pumlomologist consulted with him on the telephone, since he's been treating Charlie for the last 18 months." He reached across the table and took Alan's hand then. Alan couldn't stop the fear from reaching his eyes, and he just waited for Don to continue.

Don removed his hand and reached quickly into a pocket for a notebook. "I wrote some stuff down," he said. "They're concerned about a…about a 'late postransplation opportunistic infection' in his lungs. They want to check for something called RSV, and also, bacterial pneumonia."

He looked up from his notes and met his father's eyes again. "The test scheduled for tomorrow morning is a…" back to the notes. "…a bronchoscopy, with a bronchoalveolar lavage."

"Those are big words."

"I know. The test is done under a local anesthetic, some cells are harvested…"

Alan held up his hand. "Will Dr. Stevens be here?"

"Not during the procedure. He assures me the docs here will do a great job, and that this test is easier on the patient than an alternative, which would be an open lung biopsy."

Alan blanched. "Dear G-d. None of it sounds good to me."

Don put the notebook away and reached for his father's hand again. "I know. Dr. Stevens will be faxed the test results immediately, and he'll come here during his lunch hour tomorrow to see Charlie himself, and talk to us."

Alan pushed himself away from the table.

"Dad! You haven't eaten yet!"

Alan stood. "I'll eat at home. I'm going to stop at the store and buy a nice beef to roast. Some of that thick, whole-grain bread we all like. The least I can do is bring the good doctor lunch." 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 

Dr. Richard Stevens accepted the paper bag and the Starbucks® coffee mug gratefully. "I don't feel like I really deserve this," he said, as he, Don and Alan sat at a table in the cafeteria.

"Nonsense," admonished Alan. "You're a busy doctor. You should eat."

"Oh, wow…" the doctor was carefully unwrapping the wax-paper-covered sandwich. His face fell a little as he leaned back in his chair and looked at his companions.

"You're not a vegetarian, are you" Alan asked anxiously. "I should have thought…"

"No, Alan, it's not that. This is great. Roast Beef is a favorite." He took a breath. "I asked you two to meet me here, because Charlie's in a different room. He's in the ICU."

Don's throat tightened. "What happened?"

The doctor took a sip of his coffee. "The look with the fiberoptic bronchoscope showed a pretty massive infection. They had some trouble actually doing the procedure. His throat was swelling so much, they waited until the lab confirmed what they expected of the lavage — bacterial pneumonia — and went ahead and intubated him while he was still sedated. As long as he has a breathing tube, he'll be sedated, in ICU."

"How long? What is the treatment? Should we have him transferred to your hospital?"

Dr. Stevens smiled at all of Alan's questions. "Last thing first: No, I don't think a transfer is necessary. Staff here has been very cooperative with me, and receptive to my ideas. I have another patient here who was admitted through the ER last week also, so it's not a problem for me to come by and do rounds on them at least once a day."

"Eat. Let me think how long it's been since they've made doctors like you."

The doctor's eyes closed as he bit into the sandwich and chewed, savoring the first decent food he had consumed in…in…well, in too long, he finally decided. Don watched, and although he had not been hungry when they had sat down, the memory of his father's roast beef sandwiches was beginning to make him regret telling his Dad not to bring him one. Embarassed, he heard his stomach growl. Richard Stevens opened his eyes and grinned. Alan just reached in the satchel at his feet, producing another paper bag. He placed it in front of Don and patted his hand. "Here son. I thought you might change your mind."

"This is incredible, Alan. Back to your questions. Treatment includes antibiotics, of course, IV immune globulin to kickstart the immune system we're been trying to suppress all this time…"

"Will that compromise the transplant? Cause a rejection, or that Graft thing…" Don was trying to eat his sandwich, ask questions and look for his notebook at the same time.

"Donnie! Don't talk with your mouth full! Your mother and I taught you better than that."

"Sorry," Don muttered around a mouthful of roast beef. He looked at the doctor.

"GvHD. Graft versus Host Disease. This long after the transplant, that shouldn't be a problem. It's been over a year since the transplant. We intended to keep him on immunosuppressive agents for two years post-transplant, then wean him off. Once he's recovered from both the skin infection and the pneumonia, he'll have to start them again. As far as how long he'll need the breathing tube, it's hard to say. Through it, and other methods once it's removed, he'll also be receiving various aerosolized breathing treatments. The goal, of course, is for all the drugs we're giving him, all the treatments we're giving him, all the procedures we do — we want all of that to work together, and quickly."

There was silence for a while — save for chewing, grunting and slurping. Dr. Stevens looked at Alan. "Now, let me ask you something. How do you think he's doing emotionally? It will make a big difference in the overall picture."

Alan arched his eyebrows. "I think he's still a little disbelieving. Still wakes up every time hoping it was all a dream. But then he figures out it isn't, and faces it…doesn't really say much, but he has cried. He has let me be with him while he's cried, so he's not hiding. I mean, even the fact that in his drunken stupor, he went to Donnie — that wasn't hiding, either. Is that good?"

"It's certainly not bad," answered the doctor. "It's good that even wounded, you're still his 'go-to' guys."

Don balled up the empty waxed paper in front of him, shooting his father a smile of thanks. "Can we see him?"

The doctor shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, not in ICU. At least not today. Like I said, he's sedated anyway, so he won't fight the tube. Maybe in the morning for a few minutes, I could ask them to just let you be near him for a while. One at a time, of course."

He looked directly at Don. "I'm not kidding, no commando raids. You'd find it a lot harder to pull off in an ICU anyway, no matter who your accomplice was." Alan was looking confused, and Don was opening his mouth to protest when he was saved by the cell. He yanked the ringing phone out of his pocket. "Eppes." His eyes widened, and he looked at his father. "Amita." And it was back. The anger, the urge to make her pay. Dropping his eyes, he growled, "What the hell do _you_ want?"

Dr. Stevens looked from Alan to Don. He wasn't sure who looked most like he was about to have a heart attack.

"Amita?" he heard Alan whisper, saw him lift a hand toward Don as if in a dream.

Then Dr. Stevens knew which one was going down, because he saw him do it. He watched the blood drain from his face, saw him start clawing at his throat as if he couldn't breathe, was there to keep his head from banging on the floor as he slipped out of the chair. He'd never been so glad to be in a hospital cafeteria in all his life. "We need some help over here!" he yelled, dropping his head to the

chest to listen, fingers on the carotid pulse. Feet were running toward them. Hospital personnel who didn't know him pushed him out of the way, and he found himself part of the crowd, watching.

"What happened to that guy?" he heard someone whisper.

"Don't know," came the answer. "It looked to me like he was just talking on his cell, and went down."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 

It was warm. Whatever was in Don's hand was warm, and he rather liked it. Perhaps…Perhaps his father had made him another sandwich, and warmed this one a bit in the microwave, an oddity he knew Don liked. He squeezed it. It squeezed back, and he rather liked that, too. This was definitely not a sandwich. A cursory search discovered fingers. This was a hand, but it was too smooth and too small to be his father's. It was a nice hand, though, and the fact that he was holding it was interesting. Don figured maybe he should open his eyes. He did, and found himself horizontal, staring up at Katie.

"So," she said without intro, "I'm having lunch with Megan, and your dad calls her. She tells me what's going on and it occurs to me that's there is one thing I forgot to say over coffee the other day."

Don got the feeling he wasn't needed in this conversation yet, so he just tilted his head at her expectantly.

"I developed a policy," she continued, "after those first two guys left me. I insist on at least one date first, now. You can't leave me until after one date. I'd prefer a really good one, but that part's not set in stone."

Don tried to sit up, but she put out a hand. "Not yet, G-man. Still tied up."

He had been so busy watching Katie that he hadn't even noticed all the wires coming off him and leading to — what was that? A teletype? Did he ask that out loud? Where was his shirt?

"EKG," Katie was saying. "Doc should be back any…"

As if on cue, Dr. Stevens and a man he didn't know entered the room, bent their heads together over the read-out in the machine, then switched the machine off. "I'll leave this to you," said the stranger, hurrying out. "Got an MVA coming in."

Dr. Stevens looked at Don, shook his head. "Vasovagal," he said, turning to Katie. "You can unhook him. Keep him out of here until we get Charlie out of ICU." He checked his watch. "Surgery in an hour." He looked back at Don. "Take it easy. You'll be fine. Katie will fill you in on all the horrid details. I'll keep you posted on Charlie."

With that, he was gone. Katie was ripping things off his chest, seeming to enjoy it. Eventually she helped him sit up on the edge of the gurmey, handed him his shirt. "Vaso what?", he said, wondering how all the buttons got off, and where his t-shirt was.

"Sorry about that," she said, sitting down again. "They sort-of had to rip it off. Vasovagal syncope. That is the six-syllable term we created for men and other strong people who…faint."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Nope. They took the EKG to be sure, and it looks good. You could be an athlete, or something."

He slipped into the arms of the shirt — at least they were still there — and started dejectedly at the buttonholes. "I fainted?'

"I was just kidding. About the shirt." Katie handed him the spare FBI t-shirt that Megan had found in the bag he always kept in the SUV. "Put this on."

He accepted it gratefully and started over, handing the ripped shirt back to Katie, who unceremoniously tossed it in a waste container behind her. "We should talk," she said.

Something in her tone made him look at her again, while he pulled the shirt down over his torso. "You have to find a way to let go of this."

"But Charlie…"

"But Charlie is a grown man. I heard about that letter he wrote to your father last year, when he was in the hospital for chemo, in isolation. Even then, he knew you guys loved him"

The curtain drew back a little and Alan entered, reaching for his wallet. "Actually, I carry that letter with me all the time. I made copies, so I wouldn't ruin the original. Ah, here it is. This is the part…" he handed the paper to Katie, pointing.

" _I feel you with me every moment, Dad," she began, " whether you are physically here or not. I know that you would give your last breath for me — I just don't want you to. Please take care of yourself, and Don, our rock — he's stronger than all of us, but he's not as strong as he wants to be."_

The three were silent. "Some strength," Don finally muttered.

Katie stood again. "You've got a pretty stressful job, I would say, Special Agent Eppes. Charlie's health and…recent setbacks…, that's more stress. It's a great body, dude, but it's still human. It's only supposed to do so much."

Don knew he was probably past blushing. He was probably purple, But she either didn't notice, or thought that was a good color for him.

"You can't fix this for Charlie. In that way, I think the leukemia was probably easier for you. There were things you could go. Drive him to chemo, hold his head over the toilet, eventually, even give him bone marrow! But you can't take this on for Charlie." She directed a glance at Alan. "Either of you. It's all his."

Neither man answered, and after a moment she walked over to directly face Alan. "He's an Eppes," she said. "He's shown you what's in his core. He can do this again, especially if he thinks that the two of you" she tossed Don a glance, "believe that he can."

Alan rubbed his hand over his face and arched his eyebrows at Don. "She's right. She's smart, this one."

"Well, while I'm on a roll here, let me add that I have three more things on good authority." Katie's voice had that teasing edge again, and it caught both men's attention. "Number One. You guys can't see Charlie today, probably not tomorrow. But at least not today."

"That's all one thing?"

"I'm _talking_ here," she protested, throwing a withering glance Don's way.

"Anyway, Number Two. I heard Megan tell your Dad that you're taking the rest of the day off, Don, whether you want to or not. She and the guys have it handled."

"Hey…" Don started to protest, but she gave him that look again, so he shut up.

"Number Three," she said looking at her watch. "It's only 1. I don't go to work until 6:30. I hear there are matinees at the Cineplex." The two men assumed identical looks of worry, and she rolled her eyes. "Come on. You've both got cells. I've got a cell. A true emergency will find one of us."

Suddenly Alan's eyes crinkled. "Hop off that table, son," he said, turning to leave the ER exam room. "Neither one of us is getting a better offer anytime soon!"

Don did as he was told, lightly touched Katie's arm. "So does this count as our first date?" he whispered.

She smiled up at him. "I will not be telling our children that their grandfather chapereoned our first date," she answered, stunning him into silence yet once again. "We'll compare calendars later. Think of something out of the box. I prefer a really good first date."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 

The forced separation from Charlie leant Don some perspective. He knew that Katie was right. He couldn't change what had happened to his brother. He did wonder why Amita had called him — apparently his vasovagal episode in the hospital cafeteria was harder on the cell than it was on him. He had to get a new one, and there was no way to get her caller ID off the old one. He couldn't call her back. He wasn't sure he would, anyway.

The Monday afternoon matinee — a comedy— had been relaxing, and fun. Once, he had to break up a popcorn fight between his father and Katie. After an early dinner, they got her to work just in time to grab her extra uniform out of the nurse's locker room. Don dropped off his dad, returned to his own apartment and fell asleep before 8 p.m. When he awoke at 5, he was terrified that he had missed something important — but there were no messages blinking on the machine, no-one was pounding on the door. Charlie must be holding his own.

His team caught a case that day, and the hours flew by. He did manage to call his father in the late afternoon.

"Charlie's doing well, Don," his father said as soon as he answered. "He's responding to all the treatments as well as they hoped. They may be able to extubate him tomorrow and move him out of ICU."

Don smiled in relief. "That's great, Dad! You're taking care of yourself, right, you're not…"

"Actually…" a distinctly feminine voice answered, "he's teaching me how to properly roast a beef."

Don's smiled widened. "Katie! What are you doing there?"

"I ran into your Dad in the hospital this afternoon when I went to check on Charlie," she answered. "I'm off tonight, so I asked him to dinner. He thought I should learn to cook instead."

His dad was teaching Katie to cook Don's favorite food. Not too difficult to read the message there. Don saw Megan motion to him from across the bullpen. "Great news, all the way around," he said. "Don't believe everything he tells you. Demand evidence. I've gotta get back to work, now."

"Okay, Don, take it easy. Your Dad's waving good-bye. Oh, and Don?"

"Yeah?"

"I've already seen all the evidence I need," she said, disconnecting.

He looked at the phone in wonder and confusion, then crossed the bullpen to meet with his team.

Don hoped to go to the hospital for the extubation, which was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon, but the case kept him in the field. He kept his cell on, but no calls came to distract him. Finally, around 4, he caught a moment and called his father again,

"Where are you?" whispered Alan. "I can hardly hear you, and I don't want to shout. I could wake Charlie."

Don walked up a small knoll. "This better? I'm about an hour out of L.A., searching a crime scene."

"Yes, that's good. Are you safe?"

Don smiled. "Yeah, Dad, we're good. Perp's already in custody. This is where he told us to search for…well, hey, I called about Charlie."

Alan cleared his throat, thinking about where his eldest was, and what he was doing. "Right. The extubation went well. Breathing treatments can be done without the tube, now. It's such a relief to be in the same room with him again."

"Yeah. I was hoping to get by tonight…"

"Don't worry, Donnie. He's still sleeping off the sedation, and when he does wake up, he can't say much. Sore throat."

"Oh, right. But still, I'd like to see him."

"He has managed to say two things," Alan offered.

"What?"

"When he woke up the first time, it was very hard to understand him. But I finally got it: 'Tell Donnie I'm ok'."

Don felt his own throat threaten to close while his father kept talking. "The last time? The last time he asked me to have Larry go by the house and pick up his laptop for him."

It was Thursday evening before Don could get back to the hospital, although he phoned frequently for updates. Finally, he signed his last report, ran to the SUV and drove as quickly as he could for Huntington Memorial. When he reached Charlie's new room, his father and Larry were just leaving. "Only 14 minutes left," his father gave him a quick hug. "You'd better hurry. I know he'd like to see you."

Brushing past them into the room, Don saw Charlie sitting up in bed, just about to open the laptop in front of him. His brother looked up at him and smiled. His face was still slightly flush, but his temperature must be greatly reduced. His eyes were bright, and he looked happy to see Don. He wasn't quite sure what made him do it, but he crossed quickly to the bed, leaned over and took his brother in his arms. After a moment, he felt the pressure of Charlie hugging him back. They disconnected, then, and Don sat on the edge of the bed.

"You look good," he said, meaning it. He added, "I've missed you," and meant that, too.

Charlie grinned. "Yeah, I feel a lot better. Dad's been telling me you've been busy with a case, but doesn't give any details. He doesn't want me to worry. I guess he thinks this television hanging over the bed doesn't get any news stations." His grin disappeared. "You're all right? Sounded like a pretty bad crime scene."

Don smiled tightly. "It was. But yeah, I'm good. How are you feeling? I mean, physically…and…and about everything."

Charlie's eyes wandered away from Don, toward the window. "I'm better," he finally said. There was a beep, and their eyes were drawn toward the laptop. "I'd better check my e-mail, battery's getting low."

"E-mail?"

"Hey, haven't you ever heard of wireless technology?" Charlie teased, fingers rapidly moving on the keyboard. "I was so happy when I found out that the hospital has Bluetooth capabilities…" his voice faded. His fingers stopped moving. The slightly flushed face became white. He looked back up at Don.

"You hung up on Amita?"

Don felt his own heart drop. "Do you have e-mail from her?"

"Why did you hang up? Charlie asked again.

Don ran his hand through his hair. "I didn't, not on purpose. The phone…"

He grabbed the one he was carrying from his pocket. "See? I had to get a new one."

Charlie looked at the phone, then back to the lap top. His color began to even out, but his breathing was too rapid for someone who was still being treated for pneumonia. "Charlie," said Don, reaching for his brother's arm, "how many times has she e-mailed you?"

Charlie slowly closed the lap top, pushed it to one side, and lay back on the pillows. He raised one arm to cover his eyes. "Just one," he said quietly, "there's only one there."

They both heard the door open, and Mark stepped just inside. "Visiting hours are up in five, guys," he said. Turning to leave, he called back, "I'll be in to settle you for the night soon, Charlie."

"Why did you go back to see her, that night?" Don's question was soft.

Charlie's voice was toneless, as if he were answering a question he had been asked too many times. "We talked. Then we agreed that neither of us would do anything until after we met again in the morning. I left her apartment, but I couldn't go home. I guess I went to a bar. At least, I thought it was a bar, they gave me things to drink, there…" He sighed a little, turned onto his side. His eyes were open, and he played idly with the laptop. "Anyway, at some point, I couldn't wait anymore. I went back to talk to her, to beg her." He flopped onto his back again and looked Don in the eye. "I went back to beg her," he whispered. "But she was already gone."

"We found the note," Don said quietly, and Charlie closed his eyes. "What's in the e-mail?" He hated to press, but he had to know — and Charlie had to tell him, and they were going to kick him out of here any second. Charlie's eyes opened again, searched out his brother. "Just wanted me to know she's ok, wants to know if I am," he said quietly, sadly, "and that she's sure now. It would have been a mistake." He shifted in the bed, adding, "Oh. And she wants to know why you hung up on her. I think she's afraid you might go all 'big brother' on her, or something."

Charlie was still looking at Don, and Don tried to make sure his eyes reflected his heart. "Listen, I know I haven't really said this, but you know I'm sorry, right? You know I would change this, have you not go through this, if I could?"

He didn't think Charlie's smile could get any sadder, but it did. This time Charlie reached out to touch his arm. "You can't, Donnie. Don't beat yourself up about that." He sighed again and lay back down, closed his eyes, rolled over to his side. His voice was very quiet, but Don heard it. "And yeah, of course I know that. I love you, too."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 

Don sat in a chair, feet propped up on the end of his brother's bed, reading Colby's preliminary report. He scribbled something in the margin, then turned the page.

Charlie sat cross-legged on top of the bed, working on his PC lap top. Before he had left for his book club half-an-hour ago, Alan had tried to make him stop.

"You need your rest, son!"

"Dad, I could be released as early as tomorrow, I'm fine!" He jerked back as his father felt his forehead.

"You know they won't release you until you've had a normal temperature for 24 hours."

"And?"

"All-right, so it still seems normal to me…but you're only halfway there, Charlie, still 12 hours to go. You'll work yourself sick."

Don arrived in the middle of the argument and brokered a compromise. He swore to his father that he would make sure Charlie closed up shop soon, and Alan reluctantly left. Now the two of them worked in a companionable silence, until Charlie, still looking at the screen, suddenly blurted, "Katie came to see me today."

Don looked up. "Oh yeah? How's she doing?"

Charlie seemed nervous. "Don, I don't know how to say this."

Don closed the folder, gave his brother his complete attention. He spoke softly. "Just say it, Charlie. I won't hurt you…too badly. After all, you're in the hospital already."

Charlie grinned at that and seemed to relax a little. "I just wanted to say that…that you don't need to worry about me, you know, if you wanted to start dating…someone. I won't feel bad because you have a social life and I don't anymore. I mean, you're here almost every night. You must have something better to do."

"Charlie." Don knew what his brother was trying to say. "Can I use a direct Charlie Eppes quote here?"

Charlie looked apprehensive. "I guess so…"

Don lowered his legs from the bed and leaned forward. "It's not all about you, asshole."

Charlie started, and Don grinned. "Look," he continued, "I like Katie. I really do. I may even ask her out sometime. I'm thinking about it. But I gotta tell ya, Buddy, one of the things I'm thinking is that I will not be bullied into it. Not by her, not by Dad – not even by you."

Charlie's shoulders slumped a little. "You're right, I'm sorry. This is none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."

"That's okay, bro," Don was opening the folder again to get back to work. "You can always ask. I just can't guarantee you're going to like the answer."

Charlie shot him a small grin and focused on the lap top again. Some time later, after Don had finished scribbling on Colby's report, he closed the folder and stretched. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard any keyboard strikes lately, and he looked over at Charlie. The lap top had been closed and placed on the bedside table. Charlie's feet were under the covers, now, but he was still sitting cross-legged on the bed. He was turned slightly toward the window, although there was nothing to see but the brick wall of the next part of the building. Don wondered how long he had been like that. He stood and approached the bed.

"Charlie." No response. He touched his brother's shoulder, gave it a gentle shake. "Earth to Charlie."

Charlie whipped his head around then. "What? Sorry. What?"

Don laughed, but sobered quickly. "Hey, I just called you 'asshole' because it was part of the direct quote. I wanted to be accurate."

Charlie smiled, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "I know that, don't worry. I won't tell Dad."

Don crossed him arms, leaned back on his heels a little. "Is something else wrong?"

He was pretty sure Charlie wouldn't answer. Getting stuff out of him required a lot of work, sometimes. He was actually surprised when Charlie ran his hand through his hair, dropped it to the bed and said, "I miss her. I mean, not just in a 'I-thought-we'd-be-married-by-now' kind of way. She was my good friend for almost four years before we…before we messed everything up with romance. Now I don't have that anymore, either."

It was a long speech, for Charlie, and Don had sat on the end of the bed during it.

"Have you heard from her again?"

Charlie's eyes were back to the window. "No." It was almost a whisper.

"Did you reply to her e-mail?"

A shake of the head. A solitary tear escaped, slowly descended Charlie's cheek and fell off his chin. He didn't seem to notice. Don rubbed his face with one hand, waiting for Charlie to turn his head and face him again. He knew that there was nothing to say, nothing to do here, except the hardest thing he had ever done. He had to let Charlie go through this. But somehow, he had to make sure Charlie knew that he wasn't going through it alone.

Finally Charlie looked at him again, offered a brief smile. "Thanks."

Don was surprised. "For what?"

"For being my brother," Charlie said, and he slipped down under the covers, leaned his head back on the pillow, and closed his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 20 

Don couldn't believe that Charlie had been home from the hospital for three days, and he hadn't been by the house to see him yet. He also couldn't believe how difficult it was to work with the FBI's in-house "experts". He had spent three hours today arguing with a mathemetician over…well, he didn't really know. They were speaking separate languages at the time. The guy was a pure research scientist, didn't know how to present his findings or teach worth a… He clutched the file tighter as he opened the front door to Charlie's house. Maybe he could help him decipher whatever was in this guy's report.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! I cannot _believe_ you're even considering this, Charlie! You heard the doctor – it could take weeks to build your health back up after this pneumonia!"

"But Dad, I talked to Dr. Stevens today and…"

Uh-oh. Sounded like something was heating up in the kitchen besides dinner.

"I said I don't want to hear this, Charles Edward. Where's your brother? He said he'd be here for dinner tonight."

"I DON'T KNOW!" Charlie through over his shoulder as he entered the dining room and dropped a napkin full of silverware onto the table. He spotted Don, frozen in the living room.

Great. Couldn't even escape, now.

Charlie looked at him a moment, then spun around on his heel. "Dad. Dad!"

"I said not now, Charlie."

Don saw his brother slump into the door frame as if he needed something to hold him up. He started toward him, heard a quiet ,"It has to be now."

He saw his father approach, wiping his hands on a towel. "You see, you can't even stand up long enough to fight me on this." His voice had gentled. He took Charlie by the arm to lead him to a seat, but his brother jerked away and repeated himself, more loudly this time. "It has to be now."

Alan put one hand on his hip, ran one hand over his head. "Why, son? You haven't done any consulting out of the L.A.-area for 18 months. That's why you've got that fancy firewall security system on your laptop, so that you can consult electronically. What's changed?"

"Everything." Now Charlie _wanted_ to sit down. He passed through the dining room into the living room, brushed past Don, fell on the couch. His father followed, shooting Don a quick smile and greeting on the way past.

Don turned in time to see Alan sit in the chair facing the couch.

"Make me understand," he said. "I want to understand, Charlie."

Charlie shrugged. "Me, too," he finally said.

In the silence, Don could hear the clock on the wall ticking. He joined his brother on the couch. "What's going on?"

When Charlie didn't say anything, Alan did. "Your brother wants to go consult somewhere."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "It's not that simple, Dad."

Alan held up his hands to indicate he would say no more.

Charlie turned to Don. "I've had an agency ask me to be part of a fact-checking team. Their in-house mathematicians, engineers, physicists — they're among the best in the field. But they've had a lot of challenges lately. They just want some consultants to come in and go over the data, the way it was gathered…"

"All right, Charlie, I get it. People always want you to consult. And you have been, with the FBI, with other agencies that send their data here or to your computer…"

"I know. But like I said, there would be a team of us. We really need to be in the same place. Just for three months. It's a short-term contract."

"But your health…"

Charlie was still talking. "It's not just that they asked for me." He looked from Don to his father, then to the floor. "I need some time. I need to get back to my work. I'm afraid…I'm afraid of what will happen if I spend the summer here. No Amita. No teaching. No reason to leave the garage…"

Alan raised his voice again. "Is that some sort of P vs NP threat?"

"Dad…" began Don, but Charlie interrupted again.

"It doesn't start for almost a month. I would have time to build up my strength again. And I talked to Dr. Stevens. He said he would find me a referral in Cleveland, someone to follow my case." He turned to Don. "And I'll have my secure laptop, you can still e-mail me if you need something for work. It's not like we'll be chained in an office 24 hours a day."

Don didn't know what to say first. Finally, he settled for the first thing that he thought of. "Cleveland?"

"The Glenn Research Center," supplied Charlie. "They've been developing some new technology…"

Don's eyes widened. He looked at his father. His voice was tinged with awe when he spoke. "Glenn Research Center? Isn't that NASA?"

Alan straightened in the chair. "How high is your security clearance, exactly?"

Charlie smiled. "It's not that big a deal. I mean it is, but I could pass that up easily enough." The smile faded as his eyes moved from his father to his brother again. "Please. Understand this. I don't need anybody's permission to go, but I don't want to hurt you, either. I know you both worry." He seemed pensive, then added, "Actually, I kind-of count on that."

They were silent again. Don looked at his father. He smiled at him. "We have to let him go, Dad. He needs this."

Alan sighed, stood to go back to the kitchen. "I know," they heard him mumble. "But I refuse to be happy about it."

Charlie and Don both snickered, and Don felt the file in his hand again. Turning to his brother, he said, "Two things."

Charlie waited.

"One, I won't just e-mail you if I need something for the office, okay? I need to hear from you, Charlie. I'll miss you."

His brother smiled shyly. "Thanks. Me, too. What's the second thing?"

Don raised his hand, dropped the file on his brother's lap. "Can you tell me what the hell this says?"

A/N: That's it, folks, my second fanfic. Thanks for all your kind reviews, and I hope to have more for you soon!


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